


Farewell

by Guardian Of The Lotus (DistantStorm)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Post Red War, Reflection, the Farm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 06:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/Guardian%20Of%20The%20Lotus
Summary: This place isn’t hers. No place has ever been, but this - this place had come the closest.





	Farewell

The Farm is beautiful in the pre-dawn hours. When the eerie light of the shard is masked by thick, rolling fog, the chill and dampness of the forest not yet threatened by the rising sun. The smell of moss and earth permeates the senses, the metal railings are cold with condensation. Though the small collection of buildings are in a state of apocalyptic disarray, they have a certain charm: like a cabin in the woods. A sanctuary. A refuge.

All as if the Earth is saying, ‘Time moves differently here.’

It does, Suraya likes to think. There is something about the natural quiet, the way the crickets don’t chirp, how the birds only coo in cries that barely reach the ears. Each step of dewy grass under her boots sounds sweet and soft, hardly audible themselves. Something harmonious. Something infinitely welcoming.

Perhaps that was what had drawn her to this refuge in the first place. It wasn’t anything, just a handful of dilapidated buildings that would never be what they had been. At the time, it had been the only place with enough room to put a large number of people, a place that saw little foot-traffic, a place that didn’t exist on any known map.

Just another forgotten piece of earth.

And yet, so much life was breathed into it. Blood, sweat, tears. Hardship. People came together. Camaraderie replaced sagging support beams and hands reworked broken fences. Together, strangers made their homes in a fledgling village of tents out in the fields.

There was so much to learn from it. About people - not survivors or guardians or civilians. Just people. 

And about trusting people. About believing that they’re good and true. That they’re worth fighting for.

Suraya isn’t sure she really believed in any of that at the beginning of all of this. 

Sure, she believed in her people. She believed in helping others. It’s what started this. But it isn’t what made it work. Plenty of people credit her for things, but in reality she’s not to blame, if you ask her. She might have given them a way to come together, but the people did it themselves. For each other.

Not many are up at this hour, thus she moves undisturbed down the path that leads from the slowly decreasing number of tents to main array of buildings. With the shard at her back, she can see the spectrum of the sky, fading from the fathomless depths of midnight to an inky blue that fades before the horizon is shrouded in fog.

The few FOTC troops on watch nod to her as she passes, none making any attempts at idle conversation. It’s either too late or too early for them, and that suits Hawthorne just fine. The fog lingers around the edges of the cluster of buildings, except for the broken fountain between Tyra’s area and the main comms tower.

Her perch atop the barn-turned-hangar is empty, as it had been when she’d arrived. No ammo tucked in the corner, no falcon perch overlooking the Shard in the distance. Something about that pulls at her, bittersweet. This place isn’t hers. No place has ever been, but this - this place had come the closest.

She ducks under the overhang, ignoring the empty nook that housed Shaxx and his mortal-friendly rendition of the Crucible. It is not empty, but she knows he won’t return. The stairs bow beneath her weight - waterlogged and warped by time and use, especially recently.

Closing her eyes, she lets the sounds and smells of the Farm permeate her senses. The errant sound of a barn animal, the flap of wings - Louis circling - overhead. The wind rustling the trees. The sound of condensate dripping from the morning dew. The smell of earth and petrol, of hay and sweet-grass, of campfire and gunpowder, freshwater and dew. She inhales deep and slowly, slowly lets the breath go. She’s never been the kind to get attached, but a lot of things have changed now, including her.

The creak of a familiar plank above her breaks her concentration. Shaking her head, she sighs, casting a glance around the entirety of the Farm, taking in the panorama that’s been her view these last months with her sharp gaze.

“There is something special about this place,” Zavala muses aloud when she ascends the steps to the top platform of the barn. She’s quiet, but his enhanced senses alert him to her presence anyway. He doesn’t look to her, his gaze is trained on the waking community below.

“Yeah,” She agrees, leaning against the railing beside him.

“Do you have any doubts?”

“You spent all this time to convince me,” She retorts with a shake of her head, “And _now_ you want to ask me if I’m having second thoughts?”

That does draw his gaze. He does not smile, but his eyes are sharp and warm. “I thought it would be rude to ask you after we’d gone to the ship.”

“Oh,” She drawls, “I see. And if I did?”

“I would tell you that it’s perfectly normal. And that I know that you are making the right choice, however difficult it may be.”

The momentary smile that crosses her face is not quite hidden by her hood, there and gone in seconds. “I’m terrified,” She admits, giving him a sideways glance. “It’s one thing to make a run, in and out, but this? Whooh.” She blows out a puff of air that looks like smoke coiling into the air. “I haven’t lived inside the walls in years.”

“It will be a big adjustment, but I am certain you will adapt.” His vivid gaze snaps to her. 

“And if I don’t, at least I’ll liven up those Consensus meetings you’ve been telling me about.”

He raises an eyebrow as the sky begins to burn gold at the edges. “So long as you don’t punch anyone in the face-”

“It was _one time_,” She rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t we get going? Don’t you have Commander things you have to do? Why’d you even come out here, anyway?” Her eyes narrow. “Don’t tell me you thought I was going to get cold feet.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Ah, no. I simply thought that you had left the City alone. Perhaps you didn’t have to return the way you left.”

The corner of her lips rise. “That’s a thought,” She says wryly. “Combat and camaraderie?”

“Indeed,” He agrees. “Something like that.”

She takes another deep breath in and lets it go.

“Okay.” Her shoulders straighten. “I’m ready.”

Zavala’s Ghost pulls his ship around. They sail towards the Last Safe City and the coming dawn. Home.


End file.
